


Killing Me Softly With His Song

by Bidawee



Series: we took care of marner (mobsters AU) [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Mob, Internal Monologue, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:57:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: Mitch steadied him with one hand, putting a sizeable distance between them. “You’re not my husband Matts, you’re my hookup. You don’t have to feel obligated to do anything.”





	Killing Me Softly With His Song

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a short interlude between both instalments to give a glance at both lives pre and post-capture. Though this comes before other stories in the universe I implore you to have read Shoot the Messenger and House Arrest first.  
> Keep in mind I wrote this in a day for world building and it's not an accurate portrayal of the universe as a whole, haha. Comments are always appreciated and replied to!

**June 3, 2026**

Auston _loved_ him.

And Mitch loved him _back_.

And now he had it in writing. Copious, almost overwhelming declarations, permission slips, and a well-hidden registration stashed inside of the pile that had the signature. The permission to marry.

It’d been a struggle to stay seated in the initial signage, because he couldn’t stop twitching with anticipation. Couldn’t stop rearranging the papers so that everything above the signature box would be masked. Because although Mitch wasn’t the moat subservient or engrossed in the lifestyle he also wasn’t stupid--he was one of the only people who Auston could hold a conversation with without the temptation to scoff or laugh into his whiskey. And he’d get suspicious if Auston kept shuffling the order of the papers.

But thank God, he was more overwhelmed by the presence of university’s name than fact-checking at the moment--without it, Auston knew his curiosity would get the better of him. Blessedly, luck was on his side and he got the signature. Yet, he was in his office, with his career work left abandoned on the monitor, just staring at the papers. Furtermore, looking at the information he’d had to dig deep into personal records to find knowing the impoverished often lacked a paper trail because of how they fell through the cracks. It betrayed secrets Mitch would never tell him aloud.

He was thumbing at the smeared ink when Zach knocked on the pane of glass separating him from the expanse of cubicles. Typical Hyms; he didn’t even wait for the okay before he was pushing the door open, a choir of squeaks meeting the movement with glee. Auston put the document on the table, momentarily contemplating placing it face down before deciding it was nothing Zach didn’t know about.

“I have the monthly activity reports on one Mr Jones,” Zach sang, spreading them out in a fan and throwing them to Auston’s desk lacking any grace. Auston huffed, sweeping them away with one hand so that he could view the document again.

“Hello? Why are you ignoring me?” Zach bent over, inspecting the registration form. Auston made no move to stop him. Hyms was his spiritual guide, so it seemed. He was invaluable and in a childish reclusive kind of way Auston _liked_ having someone to talk to about things like this.

Because deep down he knew there was something flawed, that people would revile in horror at what he subjected his soon-to-be husband to. But they didn’t understand, nobody could.

It didn’t go according to plan.

That was the monumental concluding statement that followed every interaction, whenever he could see Mitch flinch because of his touch or stare longingly out of the window. There would forever be that rift between them that existed because of his prison sentence.

If he had the choice it wouldn’t be like this. It was supposed to be a slow, methodological seduction. He wouldn’t bother with a warning unless it was absolutely necessary and even then the only thing he would do is send men to Mitch’s employer. They would hate him. He’d be so hopeless, so desperate, that when Auston called with a completely casual discussion in mind he wouldn’t be able to resist asking for help.

The end result would be the same. They would live in the apartment, but it would be different as to how. It meant giving Mitch the guest bedroom so he had free will. It meant giving him an elevator key because there would be assurance he would return because where else would he go? It meant a casual friendship that would become intimacy of its own accord. It meant Auston could do a traditional proposal and sweep Mitch into his arms. It meant everything and more.

When Kadri revealed the skeletons in the closet he’d had to do a u-turn and completely change his direction. It meant there was never going to be that normalcy and trust, because if there were no consequences he knew Mitch would leave in an instant. Most relationships stemmed from a friendship or common interest. Theirs was blackmail and isolation. They had no one but each other because if Auston was going to be miserable and alone Mitch wouldn’t have the luxury of the opposite. They were tied by an invisible string and he wasn’t cutting it anytime soon.

But even with all that emotional baggage, he couldn’t, wouldn’t turn around. Because every time he closed his eyes he was back in that apartment and Mitch was rotting away between his fingers. He was starving or coughing because of the mold and he couldn’t sit idly by and let that happen. He’d gotten Mitch something better than an apartment. It was a chance to start anew.

“Wow, you actually got him to sign it?” Zach pulled him back into reality, waving the form back and forth. Despite having a copy, a sickly tinge made him jerk forward to grab it back; fully recognizing that Zach was playing with him but also knowing this being the one thing he didn’t want to take for granted.

Auston didn’t say anything, just gave him a knowing look. Zach hissed.

“What, did you forge it?” he asked, gently giving the papers back.

“No, he signed it,” he said, and left it at that. Zach patted his shoulder, collapsing on the desk chair in front of him with the swagger he could only show around close friends.

“Nice. So when am I invited to the wedding?”

“I don’t know.” Auston’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t legally marry him without a wedding but he doesn’t exactly know what he signed. It was in the heat of the moment.”

“Well, he’s not going to say no,” Zach pointed out.

“I know, but--I don’t know okay? I don’t know why I’m waiting.” And he didn’t like to think it was out of some moral obligation. This was something entirely different.

“You don’t have to have a wedding. Just register your marriage.”

Auston shook his head, straightening the files Zach had dumped on his desk. “We have to have a wedding in ninety days or the marriage is void. It’s stupid.”

“Get a nice ring. Take him for a nice walk. Have that fairytale proposal. He loves you, he won’t say no. If you keep this from him it’ll just break the momentum.”

“I don’t know, I have to think about it. Maybe sometime after first year, or even first semester. I don’t want--in worse case scenario--for it to interfere with his studies.”

“Still tied to the university thing? Listen, he’s not going to say no, trust me,” Zach laughed. “I got to meet with some clients for lunch so I gotta fly. Just turn the form in and do something nice. You can repay me by making me your best man.”

“I am _not_ doing that.”

“What, you think Willy deserves it more than me? I’m hurt.” Zach placed a hand over his chest, bottom lip stuck out as he pouted.

“Maybe I got friends back in America. You don’t know. Now go,” he shooed Zach with his right hand “you’re holding me up.” It was a lie, he wasn’t getting anything done today and he knew it. Zach must’ve known too--he could read Auston like an open book--but left regardless, leaving Auston to go back to admiring the swirling m’s tying Mitch to him.

Selfish, selfish, _selfish_. He was selfish. He should be ashamed. His mother would knock him over the head if she knew what he’d done; the understatement of the century. It hurt him but he couldn’t stop. Because more terrifying than any apartment complex or lifestyle was the thought of losing Mitch again.

Mitch was something he couldn’t do without.

 

**November 4, 2019**

Fucking hell, it was physically draining being inside Mitch’s shoebox-size apartment.

It wasn’t just the crooked walls and potential termites eating away at wood but the little things too, like the chipped wallpaper or outdated ceiling fan with two of the blades chopped clean off. If Mitch wasn’t so proactive about things like cleanliness he expected there’d be cobwebs and a wide assortments of spiders sharing the lodgings.

Still, he set aside his discomfort to recline back against the bed and reach a hand over to squeeze Mitch’s. The other man grunted, air still coursing out through his nostrils as he rode out the remainder of dopamine caused by Auston’s ministrations. His skin glistened, the effect making him glow in the lowlight of the reflecting apartment’s window on the other side of the alley.

The thought of sleep was tantalizing, but a sense of responsibility kept him tethered to reality. Though he couldn’t say the same for Mitch--his hips were still making little bucks, eyelashes shy little flutters that Auston’s heart cooed at.

It’d been a month since he’d been allowed the pleasure of seeing him in the afterglow, and it was worth the wait. He couldn’t speak from experience but he questioned that anyone could look quite nearly as captivating in the throes of pleasure as Mitch. There was something about his frame, how delicate but sturdy it was, that made his movements nomadic, like a meditative exercise. Coordinated but unpredictable.

“I’ll clean up, you stay here,” he said, realizing he couldn’t obsess over the moment forever. Mitch still needed to be cleaned; he was too fatigued to do it himself. It was no chore for Auston, he didn’t get sleepy after sex, but it meant separating himself from the reality he’d created. He pressed a small kiss to the back of Mitch’s neck and stood up, cold air washing over his thighs and back.

If the bedroom was like a cramped motel’s the bathroom was more comparable to an aircraft’s imitation space in that he had to physically squeeze past the sink and damp a washcloth under Mitch’s instructions to use as little water as possible as to fork over the least of his money. What should have been a simple porcelain was yellowed, like stained front teeth. He tossed the used condom in the trash bin and swiped a used cloth to use.

The whole ambience of the bedroom was decadent and sleazy, the roof a bit too low for his tastes and the carpet torn up in the entranceways. They dulled in comparison to the flavourful crater in the front entrance’s wall that resembled the mould of a fist. It made Auston’s ribcage constrain his lungs until they felt as though they’d burst like overripe cherries. Whether it came prior to or post-Mitch’s arrival remained uncertain, but it was a sign of things to come and exaggerated the decay of the apartment furthermore.

It was like imagining his mother, his father, his _sisters_ at the mercy of that rage. Very few people reached the same status or level of importance but somehow Mitch had.

It also had the unintentional side effect of chipping away at the already weak self-restraint of Auston’s, the one that withheld him from pushing Mitch into his bed and cocooning around him so that nothing could hurt him anymore. He’d had to play along, flash crazy eyes at it and lean against the wall adjacent to it so that he could slip his shoes off. The loafers, in comparison to the bent-up and dirty sneakers and knock-off Converse, were akin to something forbidden, something so material that made Auston wince more so when he spotted the missing lace and hole in Mitch’s right shoe.

“It’s cold here, come over here.” Mitch’s hands appeared from under the patchy covers to make grabby motions at Auston. Auston tossed the washcloth in his direction, the throw making it flop lifelessly on Mitch’s face where the cold temperature had Mitch’s rolling around and whining to himself.

“Yeah it is, did the heater stop working?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the vent beside the bruised dresser drawers hanging limp from the console they were screwed into.

“Couldn’t pay the bill,” he replied, retrieving the discarded rag and rubbing down his stomach and pelvis to wipe the smudges of semen and sweat that were drying there.

“God Mitchy, do they ever pay you a livable wage?” Auston sat beside him, crossing his arms over Mitch’s and almost recoiling back at the bone-cold temperature.

Mitch shook his head. “I’m a grunt, I do grunt work. I’m small. This is not Toronto.” Auston wanted to press him more but Mitch rolled over to break the connection.

The covers were barely plausible for use but he still shucked them up regardless and slithered under, stretching his legs out against the small queen sized mattress which was past its prime without a doubt. Even the added layer after the strenuous sex did little to insulate him, it felt like the intention of everything in the apartment was to sap heat, not give it. It added to an eerie sense of hopelessness that had burrowed its way deep into the foundation of the building and made him hug Mitch just a bit closer.

“I still think it’s funny, that they sent you to come talk to me.” Mitch’s head tossed over to look at him. “At our spot in London.”

“You sound like an old man,” Mitch replied, eyes closing as he adjusted his position on the pillow.

“You wore me out,” he joked. His face morphed back into a serious guise. “If I was anyone else I might’ve hurt you.”

“They told me,” Mitch inched closer, “and I quote, ‘you could handle anyone or anything they throw at you.’” Auston snorted, patting Mitch on his right bicep.

“That’s a funny sight, imagine you clocking me in the face when I walked up.” Though he didn’t think for a moment that he was incapable; Mitch could throw a few clean punches without much fanfare. It was hot as hell.

“Yeah,” Mitch laughed. “What’s with the interest through?”

“Just being here made me realize how different we are. No offence, but it kind of makes me a bit sad.” Mitch frowned and made to get up, but Auston held him down.

Auston cleared the lump from his throat and tried again. “Like, I feel as though I’m taking advantage of you. You can’t afford the heating bill and I live in Toronto. And all of this,” he gestured to the room. “Like, how can you live here? How is something like this legal?”

He expected Mitch would be shocked at the blatant disapproval, but if anything, he was accepting of it, a tiny grin sprouting on his face.

“I know, it’s bad. Welcome to London,” he said, voice flat.

“But you seem so happy. Happy to be here, happy to work. I can’t imagine how you do it.”

In comparison he felt almost entitled, stressed out beyond belief when Mitch had so much less and did so much more with it.

“That’s just how life is, I guess. I’ve never known anything different.” And that hurt. Thinking about him never being able to go out and enjoy dinner while Auston’s much more frivolous co-workers strutted about.

Auston’s thoughts betrayed the three hundred dollar paycheck he had sitting in his wallet. The money he had no grievances keeping out in the open because he knew even living like this Mitch would never take something that wasn’t his.

“You should--”

“And I can’t leave London,” Mitch interrupted. “Chris is here, my mother is here. My _life_ is here.” And that was a fair point, but who was to say they couldn’t come to Toronto, that Mitch’s life could start anew elsewhere where he would be appreciated?

Still, it was like talking to a brick wall, Mitch wouldn’t acknowledge another out. He was stubborn. Auston relented, if only to preserve his own sanity.

“Here, at least let me pay your heating bill.”

“Matts--“

“I know you said you don’t accept handouts but think of it as a favour. I can’t stand to see you living like this.” It wasn’t enough, he wanted to physically relocate Mitch. He wanted to buy somewhere nice and keep him there where he’d be safe--but he knew Mitch would never agree to that. Would shake his head and dig in his heels. This was more reasonable.

Mitch steadied him with one hand, putting a sizeable distance between them. “You’re not my husband Matts, you’re my hookup. You don’t have to feel obligated to do anything.” The admission deflated that bit of hope inside Auston, but he shook it off.

“I still care about you. I can’t stand by and watch you live like this.” His voice cracked.

Mitch winced. “We’re--I’m a grunt Matts. Lower than dirt in the scheme of things. Life isn’t supposed to be this idealistic reality where everything gets paid by the handful and we’re all equal. You’re the exception.”

“Which is why I want to give back. It’s of no inconvenience to me.”

“You’re pulling out the big words now,” Mitch laughed. Auston’s hands shot out to grab both sides of his face and hold him steady.

“I’m serious. Please take it.”

“I’m not a sex worker,” Mitch said vehemently.

“Of course you’re not. I would never think of you like that.” He leaned over and kissed Mitch’s forehead. “But I want to. You deserve better.”

Someone like Mitch should be sleeping in his new apartment, bundled up in five or more blankets and nursing hot chocolate. Wearing nice things, going to classes, having a discernible life. But as much as Auston wanted to bring it to fruition, deep down he knew Mitch would reject that lifestyle should he get the opportunity.

“And maybe I’ll get it, but all I have is this and my dignity. Don’t take that from me.”

“Let me come back for you. I promise I’ll get you out of here,” he said, brushing away the strands of hair dusting Mitch’s face. He hoped that if he said it with enough force it would cement itself in reality.

“Mhm,” Mitch said into the skin of his neck.

Auston pulled away. “So you’ll take it?”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “If it makes you stop pestering, sure.” He kissed Auston’s collarbone as his fingers rubbed the crooked hinge of Auston’s pelvis, slipping lower with intent. Auston’s hand dug under to grab them and bring them to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” he said, under his breath. Mitch hummed in agreement, fingers poking at the breach of Auston’s mouth until they slipped inside, just enough to brush the front teeth before retreating. Auston made as though to bite, watching them fly back with a small chuckle.

Mitch quieted him with another kiss, then two. It felt like whenever he’d draw away something would compel him to come back to Auston and it was intoxicating.

“Do you wanna go for round two?” His hands dipped lower again, brushing along the skin of Auston’s cock. Auston jolted, but otherwise did not respond.

“Actually, I think it’s best if you get some sleep. Tomorrow though, sure.” Toronto could wait. It was weeks, sometimes months, in between their meetings. He needed to cherish this. He needed to take care of Mitch, because there was no one else who would.

He didn't like to think there was someone else during that time. That he kept Mitch satisfied for months on end with a single sexual encounter. But the truth was much more obvious--if Mitch was this easy for him then he likely had other partners to fill the gaps with. He wasn’t exactly ashamed of his flirting and he’d made it known from the moment they locked eyes.

He was manipulating Auston just as much as Auston was manipulating him; for monetary gain that benefitted neither of them in the future. But yet, they still played that game of cat and mouse, running through a maze manufactured by their social standing in a race to find an out from society, a break where for once, life put itself on pause and let them breathe.

Mitch’s eyelids jutted shut. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Sleep well,” Auston said, tugging the blanket over them. Mitch burrowed closer like a mole, hair tickling Auston’s bare chest. The hot puffs hitting Auston soothed into little snores that flitted about.

Normal people would have followed suit, but Auston wanted to take the opening to just think in the quiet of the night; something he rarely got to do back in Toronto. Being here, with Mitch, despite the danger and stupidity that arose from it was like taking off a pair of shoes giving you blisters; rejuvenating and generally pleasant--a break from reality. Here, there were no deals to coordinate, no meetings to shadow or clients to press charges against. He was just Auston, with his Mitch in the mockery of an apartment complex nesting deep inside a city’s rotten core.

And no, he didn’t like to think of himself as the hero. That swooping in and paying Mitch’s bills and the rent for a new, better apartment would somehow make him a better person because in all honesty he could care less. But there was something else there that compelled him to sit here when he could have the woman flirting with him at the bar on Friday evening or the small receptionist that left him little chocolates when he knew Auston would be hungover and groggy.

He wasn’t--that. Mitch was an adult, he could do what he wanted. If he didn’t want the bill paid he would have declined, simple as that. All they had were these illicit meetings in London, something so forbidden by the code Auston had sworn himself to but tantalizing nonetheless. And yet, Mitch had him wrapped around his little finger and was tugging him through hot coals expecting him to crawl.

Auston had the dignity and the choice to say no, but he also had the self-awareness to know there was something larger at play here. That he was looking with fondness not because Mitch could go down on him or get down on his hands and knees and let Auston yank his hair back and mutter dirty things into his ear, but because deep down, although he didn’t want to admit it, there was an attraction budding.

He _loved_ him. Maybe not in a selfless, self-sacrificing way, but something special all the same. Something that kept him around even when it meant sleeping overnight here.

It wasn’t mutual. He knew it wasn’t. Not yet. But the next day he still found himself in the back of Freddie’s vehicle, looking up apartment pricing in Toronto under the hope that one day he could be useful beyond a phone call.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me or give me new ideas at @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr.


End file.
